


i wanna be yours

by ChameleonSerket



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: I apologise, M/M, PWP, talk shit get fcukin roasted, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonSerket/pseuds/ChameleonSerket
Summary: Baze talks a surprising amount, but only in bed.Title from "I Wanna Be Yours" by the Arctic Monkeys





	

Hot fingers on his thighs. Hot breath on his neck. Hot tongue on his jaw. Chirrut is heat, warm and wet, the day before the drought breaks, the day before the storm arrives. He surges up into Baze with a sigh that could shake them both apart, hungry hands, hungry mouth, desperate to be sated.

“Easy love, easy. There’s no need to rush.” Baze runs soothing fingers down shaking ribs, grips the rough linen of Chirrut’s pants. “you’re not even undressed yet.” He chuckles, deep and soothing in his throat. “Lie back. Let me take care of you.”

Chirrut complies. He is beautiful when he is not being contrary. He is also beautiful when he is being contrary, and in all the moments in between, but. When he goes loose and boneless, when his pale eyes are lidded and his sarcastic mouth is parted in a needy pant, well. Those are moments to be savoured.

Baze hovers over Chirrut for a moment, skimming his fingers over toned muscles, pressing his palms into slender hips, rubbing a sly hand over the hard bulge just to see Chirrut gasp and buck. He tucks his thumbs in between fabric and shifting hipbones and rubs them in small, excruciating circles.

“You think I should take these off?” he mutters, “hm?” He slides his hands deeper. “I suppose I don’t have to. I suppose I could just take you in my hands like this.” Baze holds his hands firm against a squirming frame. “Yes. I could. You’re not even wearing underwear are you? That’s not very holy, Chirrut. Is that the point? Does rubbing against your robes get you off?”

An elegant hand skates up his flank, cascades across his shoulder, sneaks into his hair and with a deft twist holds on tight. An involuntary moan escapes from Baze’s lips. He is forced down until his ear is pressed up against Chirrut’s mouth. “Let me take off my kriffing pants right now,” Chirrut hisses, tongue and teeth, “or I will shove my quarterstaff so far up your ass it will replace your spine.”

Ah. Playtime was over then.

Baze shakes his hair free of the hand and sits up laughing. He laughs as Chirrut huffs and puffs his way out of bed. He laughs as Chirrut kicks his pants away sourly, he laughs as he removes his own underwear, he practically roars with laughter when Chirrut launches at him, barrelling into his chest, bearing him down onto the bed. “What happens now?” he grins up at a petulant pout and laughs even as his mouth is crushed in a forceful kiss.

The kisses move lower, to the jaw, to the neck, over the broad and heaving chest, down the trail of dark hairs. Baze keens, his hips rolling, his hands scraping against the mattress. He glances up just in time to see Chirrut, mouth open, tongue red, dripping with saliva, before he arches back with a heavy groan.

“Chirrut, ah, yeah, kriff, Chi- I, oh, that’s,” Baze pants, propping himself up on shaky elbows. Chirrut truly is a master of the quarterstaff, one hand tracing lazy patterns into Baze’s stomach, the other backing up a filthy mouth. Even now, Chirrut looks as if he is deep in meditation. His eyes are closed, a crease between his perfect brows and his knees are neatly tucked together. If Baze was a betting man he would put all the credits he doesn’t have on Chirrut’s ankles being primly locked together too. It would be cute if it wasn’t so hot.

“Mn, Chirrut, love, wait-“

Chirrut lets go with an obscene pop. “What.”

“Just, give me a moment.” Baze hefts himself upwards, moving backwards, scrabbling at the pillows, until he is able to comfortably prop himself against the wall. “That’s better. Come here,” he whispers and Chirrut lets himself be pulled onto Baze’s lap. “Yeah. I like it when you’re close.” Baze kisses Chirrut’s forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, and slips a sly hand between their hips.

Chirrut bucks into the contact with a hiss, hands slapping the wall, his mouth pressed into Baze’s hair.

Baze finds the breath to laugh into Chirrut’s shoulder, “Force, you’re so good, love, you’re so good.”

“That’s not very, holy of you, hah?” Chirrut pants, rolling his hips up into Baze.

Baze quickens his hand. “I’m no holy man. You’re the only thing I believe in, my sun, my force. It’s you. I’m yours.”

“Yes. You’re mine.” And with that whisper Baze comes apart. It is all he can do to grit his teeth and guide Chirrut through his, until he too is spent and sated, ragged breathing in sync, beating hearts in sync.

 

\--------

 

They lie in a comfortable heap, Baze staring somewhere past the ceiling, Chirrut pillowed on his chest.

“You talk too much.”

Baze sighs. Here we go.

“And then not enough at other times, when that incessant babbling would be actually useful. And even then maybe not. You say utter nonsense. ‘That’s not very holy Chirrut’? ‘You’re the only thing I believe in’? Please. You’re a mess.”

Baze feels the inevitable blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’m your mess,” he mumbles.

“Yes,” breathes Chirrut. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> ??????????? what. did i write.


End file.
